


The Eavesdroppers

by captaincolossal



Category: Elsewhere University (Webcomic)
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Gen, Magical Realism, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 14:45:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9905960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincolossal/pseuds/captaincolossal
Summary: Everyone at Elsewhere University know about the Eavesdroppers.  You know, they're just off that one section of the path, where the shadows watch you and whisper things as you pass.  They're okay.  Mostly.





	

There are at least two of them. We call them the Eavesdroppers. Some people call them the Rumor Mill. Some drama students tried calling them the Shadow Hyenas, because they kept hearing giggling, but that name never caught on. Like, when you first heard it, it sounded really stupid, but then you’d be on that one section of the path, just before, well, the Eavesdroppers, and suddenly “Shadow Hyenas” was the scariest name you’d ever heard.

My roommate and I have been going through some of the newsletter archives, and we’re pretty sure they’re mentioned a few times. I found one from 1972 that mentions “the Snooper” which is an accurate enough name for them, but, again, it sounds really stupid. “Tapper” is a pretty good one. My roommate, Dakota, found that in a newsletter from the 1930s. They told me it’s from the word “wiretapping”, and I reminded them that it’s not safe to spend that much time in the microfilm section of the library.

No one knows why they’re in the same place. Some people think that it’s because so many students have to walk that section of path. Kevin, the kid down the hall, thinks they live under the bridge. Sasha, my lab partner, has a different theory every week – they’re made of shadows, they feed on words, they’re students that disappeared a hundred years ago.

Personally, I think they’re just curious. Or the Gentry’s version of parrots. Not that I would say that out loud.

The shadows are always really dense, just off the path, and I don’t know of anyone who’s Looked into them. If they have, well, they either didn’t say or they weren’t around to say. But that’s where the Eavesdroppers are, just off the path, under the trees, in shadows that are always darker than they should be. Last year, on a really sunny day, I caught a glimpse of something moving. Just out of the corner of my eye. Not that there was any doubt that they’re there.

Mostly, we just hear them. We call them Eavesdroppers, but we hear them as much as they hear us. Students have heard everything – running water, bursts of static, strange noises that sound both organic and mechanical, lines from overheard conversations, snippets of pop songs.

> _“All the single ladies! All the single ladies!”_ chant the Eavesdroppers, in their ever changing and always unsettling voices.

The Eavesdroppers aren’t the best at human languages. It’s as if they know all the words and the rhythm of human speech, but the result is slightly off. Maybe it’s because they’ve learned from overhearing pieces of conversation. Maybe this is a joke to them.

> _“Did you see what he was wearing?”_ rumbles one voice.
> 
> _“It certainly wasn’t a bottle cap scarf, or that nice sweater from his boyfriend!”_ the other hisses, scandalized.
> 
> Child-like laughter erupts from everywhere.

It’s safe enough to talk in their presence, as long as you know that your words will be overheard, twisted, and whispered to at least a dozen other students.

Actually it’s safer to talk. Awhile back, before my time, students stopped talking on that bit of path. Someone had the idea of keeping words from the Eavesdroppers, and after a few weeks they got angry. No one was hurt, but the shadows got darker and bigger, and the feeling of being observed became a feeling of being glared at with malicious intent.

If you’re walking alone, it’s a good idea to hum a tune or talk to yourself.

Last semester Dakota had laryngitis and took to carrying a set of castanets and playing them when they walked alone. For weeks the Eavesdroppers incorporated bursts of rhythmic clicking. That’s mostly faded now. They latch on to anything that’s new. New slang, popular phrases. All of it run through their weird internal filter and whispered, hissed, or rumbled back at us.

> _“Aesthetic,”_ they murmur in unison, followed by a wet, thick, sucking sound.
> 
> _“Your processed fiber body coverings are on fleek”_ one voice whispers as the other hisses white noise.

We don’t talk to them. _Ever_. We don’t even look in their direction when we talk.

There was a student, years ago, who addressed them directly. Stood on the path, looked into the shadows, and spoke to the Eavesdroppers. Well. _Eavesdropper_. At the time.

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about Elsewhere U, and had this idea for a place on campus where the shadows talk back, and basically that turned into one of the Gentry.
> 
> This isn't as story-like as I hoped, but maybe I'll write more at some point. Maybe make the narrator into more of a character and have them and roommate Dakota go on campus adventures.


End file.
